


Here In My Room

by Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, the original peach scene was apparently not kinky enough for my liking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 01:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13870026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum/pseuds/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum
Summary: Oliver brought his hand closer, holding the fruit up like he was appraising it. Maybe he was wondering how Elio had gone about this. Maybe he was hoping Elio would give him a detailed account of what had transpired between him and that poor peach before Oliver had found him. Whatever he was thinking, there was no doubt the peach in his hand was firmly at the centre of his thoughts.





	Here In My Room

Like starving men led to a banquet and told to have their fill, Elio and Oliver had been making up for the wasted weeks of dancing around one another in enthusiastic fashion. Their nights, they spent exploring one another's bodies under the sheets of Oliver's bed; their days, stealing brief touches and cautious, heady kisses as soon as nobody was watching. There was a thrill to the sneaking around that Elio hadn't expected. It was almost as exciting as having Oliver for himself, the brush of Oliver's fingertips against Elio's thigh while they ate dinner, or the way he would meet Elio's eyes from across the room with a look that said _'I'm going to make you come tonight,'_ igniting a fire inside Elio's belly, which burned almost as hot as the one that consumed him when Oliver laid him down on the bed and made love to him.

At times, Elio wondered if anybody would begin to notice the shrinking distance between the pair, the way their bodies would gravitate towards one another as if of their own accord, like parallel lines, close but never quite touching. Even this afternoon, with the entire garden in which to sprawl themselves, Oliver was stretched out on the grass with his notes in his hand only just beyond the shadow of the table where Elio sat.

They had made a game of it. The moment Elio's mother would turn her back and Mafalda would step back inside the kitchen, Elio would shift his leg and Oliver would extend his arm, the backs of his fingers grazing up and down Elio's ankle until they risked being spotted again, and reverted to their original positions, pretending to ignore each other once more.

"Oliver," Elio's mother called, disrupting the latest round of their game and forcing Elio's attention to snap back to the book in front of him, "are you busy?"

"No. What do you need?"

Elio glanced over, hoping his expression read as casual disinterest, the kind of expression Oliver could slip into with such ease, rather than the hyperawareness of Oliver's actions that he felt. His mother was stood by the closest of her peach trees, a basket on the seat beside her, and she was staring up between the verdant leaves. Heat crawled beneath Elio's skin at the sight of her plucking another fresh peach from the tree while Oliver stood to join her.

He had not yet dared to eat a peach since that day in the attic. It was all he could do not to blush ferociously every time Oliver helped himself to one and took a slow, savouring bite with his eyes on Elio, watching for his reaction. He had developed a curious taste for them of late.

"There's a clutch of beautifully ripe ones just out of my reach." She stepped back to let Oliver take her place, and Elio's eyes danced over him as he stretched up to reach into the branches.

Elio was an old friend of the sight by now, having studied intimately every stretch of tanned skin, every freckle, every muscle that shifted beneath Oliver's skin with his movements. He could produce a faithful reproduction of Oliver's body every time he closed his eyes. But Elio much preferred to watch the real thing. His eyes flicked to Oliver's hips, the sharpness of them a warning to stay away that Elio had not yet heeded, and he followed the line of dark blond hair all the way down from Oliver's navel until it disappeared beneath his trunks, a promise of more hidden treasures beyond the fabric.

He already had tonight's exploration planned out. Elio turned the thoughts over in his mind, working out the finer details. Would he finger Oliver himself, or watch Oliver work his own body open for Elio, long fingers probing deeper than Elio could reach? Would he have Oliver lie on his stomach, or on his back so Elio could watch his expressions shift while he fucked into him? There was so much he wanted to do to Oliver, so much he wanted Oliver to do to him, he feared they would run out of time before they could complete the list.

The quiet chatter between Oliver and his mother had been a pleasant backdrop while Elio worked through his thoughts, until the sudden sharpness in his mother's tone returned his mind to the afternoon, leaving the Oliver that had been sprawled naked and writhing beneath Elio in his imagination back upstairs where he belonged.

"Oh, shoot," she was saying, looking down at her watch. "I'm supposed to be meeting Samuel in town. Thank you, Oliver," she added with an affectionate brush of her hand on his arm, before collecting the basket now loaded with freshly picked fruit and heading towards the kitchen to deliver it to Mafalda. "Do you need anything while I'm out, Elio?"

He shook his head, and watched her go.

Oliver's eyes were on Elio when he looked back in Oliver's direction. There was a fat peach still clutched in his hand. "So," he said, a smile dawning on his face as he moved towards Elio, his steps slow and predatory, "we've practically got the place to ourselves."

Elio sat back in his chair, one elbow propped up on the backrest as if he was opening himself up for Oliver, like an offering to him. His gaze travelled slowly up the planes of Oliver's body when he came to a stop. He was stood close enough to touch, to kiss, to lick, but Elio forced himself to remain still. "Are we going upstairs, then?"

Oliver grinned. He took Elio by the hand, free to touch without watchful eyes on them, and they slipped into the house, waiting until Mafalda had her back turned rather than let go of one another for the few painful seconds it would take to pass her. The moment they were in the sanctuary of Oliver's room, Elio pulled him down into a deep kiss. It felt as if each hour since the last time he had been able to taste Oliver's lips had been a decade.

Oliver steered them back towards the bed, and Elio went willingly, safe in Oliver's embrace as he shuffled backwards until his legs touched the edge of the mattress and they dropped down onto it. Their lips didn't part. Elio never wanted them to. He could spend an eternity like this: breathing Oliver's air, their bodies tangled together, as if their limbs could inosculate if they held one another tight enough.

Still kissing, they shifted back up the mattress until they were no longer hanging half off of it, and Elio threw his arms around Oliver's shoulders as his mouth travelled from Oliver's, across his cheek and jawbone, and down the side of his neck. He rolled them over with surprising ease. Oliver always gave in to Elio's whims and desires eventually, though usually he liked to at least feign putting up a fight. Elio pulled back to look down at him, and sure enough, Oliver was only half paying attention to Elio.

Elio followed his gaze downwards. He was still toying with his peach.

"Oliver," Elio breathed against his skin, kisses trailing the word, "what are you doing?"

"I'm thinking," he replied. One hand slid over Elio's back while Elio mouthed at his neck, the other still no doubt holding that damned peach. "Did it feel good?"

Elio's gaze flicked up to Oliver's face again. His expression was one of deep consideration. Given the circumstances, there weren't many places Oliver's mind could have wandered. "Did what feel good?"

"You know what."

"Why, are you thinking about trying it?"

Oliver brought his hand closer, holding the fruit up like he was appraising it. Maybe he was wondering how Elio had gone about this. Maybe he was hoping Elio would give him a detailed account of what had transpired between him and that poor peach before Oliver had found him. Whatever he was thinking, there was no doubt the peach in his hand was firmly at the centre of his thoughts.

A grin stretched across Oliver's face as he met Elio's eyes, answer enough without words to follow, and Elio bit his lip to suppress a smile of his own.

"You're sick," said Elio, as Oliver's gaze returned to the peach. His fingers slid over the crease in it the same way Elio's had done, an affectation of fingering a lover. Elio wondered if Oliver was hard yet. He didn't dare peer down to look.

"Definitely."

He stared back at Elio. He was still waiting for an answer to his question, his eyes on Elio so intently that Elio feared they might burrow right through his skin to see into the core of him. Oliver would probably take some perverse delight in being granted access to all of Elio's thoughts, in knowing just how irrevocably he had entwined himself throughout Elio's being; Elio's every thought, every movement, somehow connecting to Oliver.

Elio's cheeks burned under the expectant stare. He dropped his head to Oliver's chest, as if he could bury his face away to hide his reaction, to hide his whole self when his answer tiptoed into the silence between them. He shifted his groin back from where it had been pressed against Oliver's hip before Oliver could feel him stirring to life.

"It felt good."

Oliver hummed, thoughtful. With his fingers a possessive brand on Oliver's chest, Elio could feel his heart beating beneath the skin, drums of anticipation that echoed through Elio's body as if it was an extension of Oliver's own. Oliver's hand came to rest on top of Elio's, and, slowly, deliberately, Oliver guided it down his stomach towards his trunks. He was hard when Elio palmed at him through the fabric. If Elio hadn't already been fully aroused himself, the feel of Oliver's cock tenting his shorts would have been enough to get him there.

Sudden enough to make Oliver blink in surprise, Elio was on his knees, and turning to tease Oliver's trunks down his thighs. Oliver's hand trailed down Elio's spine, a feather-light touch that Elio wanted to feel on every inch of his body.

That could wait, though.

Oliver kicked his shorts from around his ankles, with Elio's help, and Elio tossed them across the room. If they remained hidden for the rest of the summer, Elio wouldn't mind it. If he could, he would hide all of Oliver's clothes, and his own, and they could spend their days wrapped up in one another, nothing but sweat between their skin.

Beneath him, Oliver was spreading his legs, and Elio shifted onto his side to gaze back up the glorious length of his naked form, like the Fauno Barberini rendered in flesh and bone. He watched as Oliver pushed his fingers into the peach, heart thudding in his chest and his teeth grazing Oliver's thigh. He ached at the thought of those fingers working their way into him like that.

With the kind of smile on his face that suggested he couldn't quite believe what he was about to do but was thrilled by the prospect all the same, Oliver brought the peach to his cock. He laughed a little as he pushed inside and, with uncertain movements, began to work it on himself.

Elio grinned. "This is surreal," he said, and Oliver hummed in agreement before another chuckle rippled out of him.

"You know what, though," he said, "I think I get it." He had his eyes closed, and Elio wondered if it was a sign of curiosity or arousal. Where one was, the other was often close behind, when it came to the two of them.

Oliver began to move his hips, gentle thrusts like he was afraid of tearing the peach in two, the way he had moved inside Elio their first night together, and his expression shifted in his growing pleasure — undeniable as such now. Elio could practically feel the phantom fruit around his own cock, the memories of his initial exploration raised by the sight of Oliver doing the same were so vivid in Elio's mind.

"Did you think about me when you did this?"

Elio dragged his palm up and down the inside of Oliver's thigh, right where he was the most sensitive. "Are you thinking about me now?"

"Yes," said Oliver. He licked his lips. There was a hint of colour coming to his cheeks. "Are you hard?"

Elio was so fucking hard he thought he might come without so much as putting a hand on himself. He nodded, his face still resting against Oliver's leg, and reached into his shorts to squeeze the base of his cock, tight enough to try and scare the desire away.

"Tell me what you'd do to me." He could hear the roughness in his own voice, and, judging by the deep groan that rumbled from Oliver's chest, so could he.

"I'd start slow," he said. "Build us up to it gently."

"With me on my back?"

"No. I'd bend you over." They both gasped in response. Oliver was moving the peach on himself faster now. There was juice pouring down his cock, soaking into his pubic hair, and Elio wondered how much of it was from the peach and how much was from Oliver himself. All he would need to do to find out was shift a little, lean forward, and taste. It would be so easy.

He wanted to rub his own cock so badly he thought he might choke on the urge.

"I'd use my fingers on you," Oliver went on, still making love to the peach like it was Elio himself encircling him, "and my tongue, until neither of us could bear to drag it out any longer."

Elio's nails were digging into Oliver's thigh by this point, his temple pressed firm against Oliver's warm skin, leg hair tickling his cheek. For an absurd moment, he felt as if he might drown amidst the flood of arousal overwhelming him if he dared to let go. "And then?" He was amazed he still had enough command of language to force the words out.

"And then I'd make love to you."

Elio groaned at the thought. His cock was leaking already. If he even grazed a fingertip along his burning length it would be enough to send him over the edge. With one desperate hand he shoved his trunks down so his cock could slide free and touch the warm air, to keep it from rubbing maddeningly against his shorts, and kicked out of them gracelessly. "That sounds good," was all he managed to say in response.

"Tonight?"

"No. I want to fuck you tonight."

Between his heaving breaths, Oliver let out a small moan of pleasure, a serene kind of smile spreading across his face as if the thought of having Elio inside him was more pleasurable than anything he was currently doing to himself. At times Elio suspected Oliver would let Elio do anything to him, no matter how fevered or debased, and he would take it all with his easy grin and breathy, languid moans, as powerless to Elio as Elio was to him.

"I'm going to come, Elio," Oliver said.

"Now?"

He nodded, and the composure he had done a remarkable job of clinging on to finally escaped him. Lips parted to let drawn-out sigh slip between them, his back arching off the mattress, Oliver emptied himself inside the abused remnants of the peach.

Elio took it from him while Oliver fought to catch his breath. Drops of ejaculate clung to the outside of its surface. He understood now why Oliver had felt the urge to devour the peach when Elio had been the one to stain it like this.

But he had a better idea first. Elio allowed himself a moment to flick his tongue over the soft surface, to lick up the stray drops of Oliver's cum before they could drip down his wrist, and moved the fruit to the head of his own swollen cock. It was hot from Oliver's body, dripping wet with his cum, and when Elio managed to open his eyes Oliver was propped up on his elbows, watching him in awe. Their gaze stayed on one another as Elio fucked himself. It wasn't long before he was spilling into the peach as well.

It was even better this time, Oliver's eyes on him, and his hand placed protectively on Elio's ankle, anchoring Elio to the moment. Where it had felt obscene to be committing such an act hidden away by himself in the attic room, with Oliver in front of him, gaze hot with lust and affection, it transformed into an act of intimate sensuality, a gift shared between the two of them, something they would remember decades from now when so much else of this summer had blurred and faded.

The moment Elio was done, Oliver was sitting upright, curling his arms around Elio's back and letting Elio fall into his chest until the waves of pleasure had dissipated and his muscles had found the strength to support him again. Oliver's lips were a whisper against Elio's jawbone as Elio straightened. He looked down at the peach.

"Are you going to do it?" said Oliver. There was a flicker of mischief in his eyes that reignited the embers beneath Elio's cheeks and had a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth to be let free.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Want me to go first?"

"No."

Elio brought the fruit to his mouth, and took a bite. The sweetness of the peach's flesh mingled with the combined taste of each of them. Oliver watched him, almost as if it was Elio that he wanted to consume, desire radiating from him and seeping into Elio's veins. His hand cupping Elio's, Oliver took the next bite. Eyes closed, a soft moan escaping him, he acted like it was the finest delicacy he had ever tasted.

Between them they devoured the entire fruit, any thoughts of revulsion at their actions that Elio might have felt, echoes of the shame that had consumed him the last time, kept at bay by the heady sense of want sparking between his and Oliver's bodies.

Once Oliver had swallowed the final bite, he brought Elio's palm to his lips, tongue lapping up the juices before they could turn sticky, and Elio did the same. He sucked two long fingers into his mouth. From the way Oliver's eyes flicked up to meet Elio's, the same thought had dawned in his mind as it had in Elio's. He teased his tongue between the two fingertips pressed together as if it was the leaking slit in Oliver's cockhead, and sank down, taking more of Oliver's fingers into his mouth as he began to bob his head.

Oliver's breathing was growing heavy again in the still air of the bedroom. He wasn't hard yet, though, and Elio was struck by a sudden fancy, as intense as the myriad other ideas that would burst to life inside his mind, fully formed and clawing at Elio's skull in their fervour to be made reality, when his thoughts turned to Oliver. He had to act on it.

He dropped Oliver's hand and sank back down to rest on his elbow, his head level with Oliver's knees. It was close enough. He shifted to take Oliver into his mouth, still flaccid against his tongue, and worked on reviving him. He could taste the fruit juices strong and sweet on his shaft.

He wanted to taste Oliver's fresh cum instead.

"You're insatiable," Oliver said above him, fond amusement in his tone, and he turned his head to nuzzle Elio's thigh. From his position, Elio's renewed erection would be impossible to miss.

Like a beacon it drew Oliver forward; his tongue at first, licking a gentle stripe down the length of it, towards the base, then his lips peppering kisses back towards the head. Elio had to curl his fingers and toes into the rumpled bedsheets to keep from pulling back off of Oliver's hardening cock and begging Oliver to just suck him properly. It wouldn't take much to bring Elio off in Oliver's mouth. Just the thought of it was enough for a heavy throb of arousal to descend through the length of him.

Finally, Oliver granted Elio's latest desperate wish, and closed his lips around Elio's cock to suck him in earnest, eager as ever, as if Elio's cum spilling down his throat was Oliver's greatest source of sustenance. Elio had never been with anyone who adored his cock the way Oliver did.

He could see the appeal, though. The press of Oliver's thick, heavy weight burning hot against his tongue and the back of his throat was dizzying, the thought of the pleasure Elio could gift to Oliver with just his mouth and tongue, and the evidence of it spilling in deep moans and gasps from Oliver's mouth, enough to arouse Elio as much as feeling warm hands on his cock.

It wasn't the best angle for such things. He'd feel the ache in his neck from lying sprawled on his side, twisted to reach his head between Oliver's thighs and to accommodate Oliver between his own, later. But the sensation of Oliver's mouth on him as he sucked Elio in tandem with Elio's movements was more than enough to make up for the discomfort. This was an act they would be reliving before Oliver left, Elio had no doubt about it.

Oliver's every lick and suck at Elio's cock spurred Elio on to act with increasing vigour, and he was having the same effect on Oliver. Elio had lost control of his hips somewhere between Oliver's tonguing at the head of his cock and his reaching out to fondle Elio's balls, but Oliver didn't falter in his rhythm, his free hand still grasping at Elio's ass like he was deathly afraid that Elio was about to pull back. He needn't have worried. Elio didn't want to feel anything but Oliver's mouth on his cock until he took his last breath.

He needed to give Oliver a moment's warning, a splintered gasp of Oliver's name to let him know Elio couldn't hold back the tides of his climax any longer, but to do so would be to let Oliver's cock slip from his mouth, and the mere thought of such a transgression had Elio sinking all the way down on him, until he gagged and wondered if he might actually choke himself on Oliver in his enthusiasm this time. All he could manage was a warbled moan around Oliver's length, before Elio's body was curling in on itself and spilling into Oliver's mouth, and, as if the taste of Elio's semen on his tongue was the last push he had needed, Oliver did the same.

Elio swallowed it down. He'd done this enough times by now that he was growing to enjoy the taste as much as Oliver enjoyed his.

He rolled onto his back, still gasping, his throat raw and lips stinging. His forehead was damp when he pressed it to Oliver's thigh, and he didn't know whose sweat it was sticking his curls to his skin. It wouldn't be the first bodily fluid they had shared. Over the sound of the birds outside chirping with more energy than anything else felt on a late summer afternoon, Oliver's roughened breathing mingled with Elio's, and he dragged his hand up and down Elio's thigh as they both recovered.

"Are you okay?" Oliver said, his voice soft.

"Yeah." They were quiet again for a long, comfortable moment, hands brushing languid over one another's skin, savouring the tranquillity of the room, of the house, of the town, and losing themselves in their own thoughts. "Oliver?"

"Hmm?"

"When you go back home and people ask what you got up to in Italy," said Elio, "I wouldn't mention this part."

He smiled at the sound of Oliver's warm, gleeful laugh in response.


End file.
